


washes over

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Female Protagonist, Female Relationships, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Female Character, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: Mostly she is relieved that Joan Ferguson is a far tougher woman than anyone could ever guess.





	washes over

**Author's Note:**

> Date Written: 8-9 July 2017  
> Written for: International Kissing Day [6 July 2017]  
> Recipient: [](http://twitter.com/KryssiKakes)[](http://twitter.com/KryssiKakes)**KryssiKakes**  
>  Prompt: [here](https://twitter.com/KryssiKakes/status/883003794694578176)  
> Word Count: 1879  
> Summary: Mostly she is relieved that Joan Ferguson is a far tougher woman than anyone could ever guess.  
> Spoilers: Canon divergent S6 speculation, taking place within hours of the end of episode 05x12 "Hell Bent." Just consider everything we know about the whole show up for grabs here, okay?  
> Warnings: No standard warnings apply.  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Frisked & Conquered  
> Link to: <http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/>  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions & AO3 only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…  
> Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "Wentworth," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Reg Watson, Lara Radulovich, FremantleMedia Australia, and Foxtel. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Wentworth," Foxtel, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Author’s Notes: Yes, this was written and posted late for International Kissing Day. It got posted, and that's what matters. Roughly the first 900 words of this were written while sitting on a dock in the sunshine as I joined my roommate for crabbing. I never expected to actually be writing _Wentworth_ fic, but here we are. Hopefully, I get more ideas for these two, because I rather had fun with this. This ended up far more introspective and private for Vera than I'd expected, as my initial idea was a more public kiss, but that's not where the muses chose to take this.
> 
> Dedication: My muses, as usual…
> 
> Beta: None yet, so all mistakes are mine…

Panic flares in relentless waves that pound at her soul, eroding the calm exterior of the governor. She wants -- _needs_ \-- the others to believe she is unflappable, lie that it is. They believe she's in charge, that's all that matters.

"What is taking so long?" she snaps.

"They have to be careful with the excavation," Jake replies in a low tone that is too solicitous for him to be blameless. "Unless, of course, you don't care what shape the body's in, Governor."

There it is. That smarmy, subtle smirk that she'd love to punch right off his duplicitous face. But she doesn't. She simply needs to bide her time until he grows too cocky for his own good. The dark look that passes between Jake and Will Jackson makes her curious, but she chooses to chalk it up to well-placed animosity.

"Mr. Jackson," she asks, voice strident despite her attempts at calm, "what are you doing? You're supposed to be--"

"They're bringing her back."

His words break into the haze, and she can't tell if his tone is positive or not.

"She's not been taken to hospital?"

That can't be good. If she's not being immediately taken to appropriate medical care, that can mean only one thing. But why bring a body back to Wentworth? That's every bit as cruel as denying hospital care… And then the flashing lights of the ambulance begin to paint the air around her in shades of red and blue, and all conscious thought leaves her.

A deep breath attempts to strengthen her for whatever happens, but she freezes in place as the ambulance parks and the rear doors open. The EMTs don't move to remove the stretcher, lending credence to the idea that rescue efforts were too late. She will prosecute those responsible to the fullest of her abilities.

Finally, movement from within the ambulance as an EMT steps out, then turns to offer a hand inside.

The breath leaves her lungs as she sees the braced hand reach out to grip that offered -- how much pain must she be in if she's using her damaged hand? -- and she very nearly cries with relief. But governors don't show weaknesses. She learned that from the best.

Belatedly, she sees a nurse bringing out a wheelchair and fights the urge to wrest it from the woman's grip. This patient, this inmate, is _her_ responsibility. No one else's.

Mud streaks the pristine white tennis shoes and socks, the grime leaving the equivalent of a living Rorschach test on teal material and dusky skin. Without looking, she knows it leaves its insidious mark on that patrician face and hair. This development will not sit well with the deeply rooted obsession with cleanliness that she knows so well.

Jake starts to step forward to assist the woman, but she puts an arm out. "Miles, you're her new personal guard. No one goes near her without my express permission. _No one._ Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Governor."

She smirks slightly at the sour look on Jake's face, but her gaze returns to the woman settling in the wheelchair. Her movements are slow and pain briefly appears before being subsumed by sneering indifference. There are bruises and wounds in varying stages of open to scabbing over on the exposed skin. She can only imagine what lies hidden beneath grimy, torn teal cotton. Her eyes burn with relief that the damage seems minimal, but she'll feel better once medical checks her over. Definitive results offer better treatment and recovery, of course.

"Who taught you to drive one of these things? A baboon?"

She smiles at that before moving over to stand over the chair. "Good to have you back, Ferguson." The words are out of her mouth before she can temper the faint tremors of relief in her voice. She prays fervently that the slip goes unnoticed, but the gleam in those dark eyes gazing up at her says otherwise.

_Fuck!_

"The pleasure is mutual, Vera," she replies, voice husky from what she can only imagine was frantic screaming for help.

"Yes, well, let's get you to medical, shall we?" She nods to both Miles and the nurse. "I want Ferguson in protection at all times. Miles, I'll work out an appropriate relief for you, but she gets _no_ visitors without my express permission. If any medical staff has an--"

"That won't be necessary, _Governor_ ," she says softly.

She continues as if not interrupted. "If any medical staff has an issue treating her, I need to be notified immediately."

"Yes, Governor," both women reply before heading into the building.

It takes everything in her not to race after them, to take the woman into her arms and press gentle kisses to each piece of damaged flesh in atonement for allowing this gross infraction to even happen on her watch. Instead, she turns to face the two male COs and the EMTs.

"Have these men escorted to my office immediately. I'll be right along."

The men murmur their agreement and escort the two EMTs inside. She stands there for a moment or two, hands balled into tight fists in her pockets to hide their trembling. When she feels she can hold her arms at her sides without broadcasting her feelings, she heads toward her office as well. Time to get to the bottom of things.

*****

The EMTs don't end up giving her much information, but she takes what she can get from them. It's been two hours since Joan Ferguson was returned to Wentworth and sent down to medical. Miles has kept her abreast of the woman's condition. She fights the urge to race down there, verify for herself that this isn't all some strange dream. It would be unseemly for a governor to show such weakness. And yet…

When the time comes for Miles' shift to end, she finds herself heading down to medical. She hasn't managed to choose any suitable COs that she trusts for this duty, so she'll just stay and do it herself. She's done doubles before.

Stepping into the medical wing, she heads down the hallway to the private room outside which Miles is sitting. The woman looks vaguely bored, which bodes well for the progress report she'll give before being relieved.

"Miles, how is Ferguson doing?"

She tries to listen to the woman's report, but finds her eyes drawn to the woman resting on the other side of the glass. Ferguson is still, face relaxed to most, but she can see the faint tremors of muscles forced to stay rigidly relaxed. There's an IV hooked into her left arm above the brace, and several new bandages covering wounds. Most of those look small, but there are so many of them… The worst part is the bruising that's already coming up in several places that she can see.

"--been sleeping most of the time she's been in here," Miles says, bringing her back to the conversation at hand. "That might be due to the sedatives and painkillers, but who knows? I suppose screaming yourself practically hoarse to be rescued can tucker a person out."

She nods then and smiles at the blonde, knowing the expression doesn't come anywhere near her eyes. "Well, then this should be a pretty easy evening for me, shouldn't it? I'll see you in the morning for shift change. Hopefully by then, I'll have someone else I trust not to hurt Ferguson to help us. Have a good night, Miles."

"You, too, Governor."

As Miles walks away, Vera just stands there, staring at some distant point above Ferguson's head as he mind replays every second of their last interactions, as well as everything since discovering she was gone and what happened. That she's still upright and relatively coherent and sane is testament to her willpower and stubbornness.

She blinks as she notices the smirk slowly curling up those lips. Nothing else visibly moves on the woman's body, save her chest rising and lowering with each breath, but somehow she knows that the entire conversation just held is known. Probably her internal time hop, too. When those eyes open to stare knowingly at her, she hates herself for flinching. But it's the sudden curling of her arms across her midsection that gets her to move.

"Jo-- Ferguson, are you all right?" she asks, moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

Ferguson's eyes are closed again, and that smirk has disappeared in the wake of pain radiating off of her. Her good hand curls into a fist; she belatedly realizes the woman is calling for a nurse only when one enters the room. She watches silently as pain medication is administered and bandage adjustments are made, then the two of them are alone in the room again. It takes a moment or two for those eyes to open again, slightly unfocussed from the pain relief.

"Joan?"

"Vera."

That one word, that faintly mumbled utterance of her name, sends a chill down her spine. The reality of just how easily this woman could have been lost forever hits hard and, before she even has a chance to register what she's doing, she's at the side of the bed to lean over and gently cup that bruised and scratched face. Her lips press lightly to those in front of her, sudden tears slipping down her cheeks. This simple pressure of lightly chapped lips against cracked, dry lips probably can't even be considered a kiss, and yet, for her it is that and so much more.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs over and over, lips brushing against hers until she rests their foreheads together. The shaking is overwhelming, the beginning tremors of a deeply-seated earthquake threatening to split the earth beneath her feet and swallow her whole. But she can't stop it, can't stop whispering her apologies, unable to let out the depth of her devotion, of her visceral fear.

"S'okay."

And just like that, another word stops her frantic apologies. Before she can ask anything else, lips press against hers again, moving with more insistence this time, but sloppy due to the medication. She finds she doesn't care, especially when straight, white teeth trap her bottom lip and tug lightly. She whimpers at that, shifting slightly to lean in closer, thumbs caressing her chin. And then, as quickly as it began, the sweet torment stops as the face in her hands goes slack. She wants to panic, fearing the worst, but she hears a soft sigh and feels the exhalation against her lips. Realizing the woman has fallen asleep, likely from the medication, she smiles as relief washes over her and presses one more gentle kiss to those relaxed lips.

Straightening up, she wipes at her cheeks and attempts to fix her appearance before heading out of the room to sit in the chair Miles had earlier vacated. A part of her is guilty for taking advantage of the other woman under the circumstances, but mostly she is relieved that Joan Ferguson is a far tougher woman than anyone could ever guess. She will recover from her injuries and return to her life as an inmate in due time, protected as covertly as possible by the woman who cannot imagine a life without her in it.


End file.
